


I Don't Get Many Things Right the First Time

by synchronicities



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Marriage of Convenience, Mutual Pining, Remarriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-08-29 17:21:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16748332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synchronicities/pseuds/synchronicities
Summary: “You have to admit, Blake,” Miller says dryly. “Realizing you were in love with your fake wife right after your fake divorce is kind of a new relationship low for you.”





	1. His

**Author's Note:**

> I've technically been writing blorke fic for three years, so I'm surprised this is my first non-fusion modern AU. So I really like the Marriage of Convenience trope, but I also kinda like the Comedy of Remarriage trope. This is kind of inspired by the Parks and Rec episode "Tom's Divorce", but is not really related to that.
> 
> Unsurprisingly, I don't know anything about the healthcare stuff or the medical stuff, please take the finer details with a grain of salt.
> 
> Title [from](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f9bRmuP-kQY) Ben Folds.

At 2:46 pm on September 19, after a year and eight months of marriage, Bellamy Blake and Clarke Griffin's divorce is finalized.

At 7:31 pm that same day, they announce it to their friends right before game night is about to start.

Miller doesn’t even look up from his phone. “So, are we supposed to – did you want a _Congrats on the divorce!_ cake?”

“I don’t know if they actually make those,” Monty says, looking thoughtful.

“Like a wedding cake, but split down the middle,” Jasper offers. “Right through the bride and groom figurines.” Monty furrows his brow, nodding.

“I’m offended that you guys are thinking of divorce cakes rather than the end of our marriage,” Clarke says casually. She’s curled into Bellamy’s side on the couch, her head is on his shoulder, and his arm is slung over the couch behind her. They’re probably the most touchy-feely fresh divorcees in North America.

“Not even a shred of sympathy,” Bellamy adds somberly. “People used to respect insurance fraud in this country.” Clarke chuckles at that, burying the sound in his arm.

Octavia’s eyebrows shoot up. “So…how does that work? Are you now off Clarke’s insurance?”

“Yeah,” Clarke says. “Bell’s new job at Arkadia Prep is great with employee benefits, so there really wasn’t any need for us to keep it up. So, again: in case any of you still have shitty insurance, I am now on the market.”

“Please,” Raven snorts, looking at them up and down. “I just don’t know what to react more strongly to – the aforementioned fact that your marriage was a sham anyway, or that you’re obviously still married.”

Something constricts in Bellamy’s chest at that, and he’s suddenly very aware of all the points where Clarke’s body is touching his. He moves his arm to squeeze her shoulder and she instantly shifts, letting him stand.

“Whatever,” he says. “Are we playing _Settlers of Catan_ , or what?”

* * *

“I don’t know what else to tell you,” he tells Octavia two days later when she corners him in a coffee shop about it. “Clarke and I got divorced. We all knew this was coming.”

“Right,” says Octavia. She leans back into the coffee shop chair and crosses her arms. “And I want the record to show that I thought it was a stupid decision to begin with.”

“And you are welcome to your very wrong opinion,” Bellamy says. “Seriously, it was legal, and it might have been ethically dubious, but the only thing really hurt in the whole thing was the health insurance industry, which is shitty and deserves to be hurt anyway.”

His sister holds up a hand. “You don’t have to justify it again, seriously. But she’s still living with you and you still basically go everywhere with each other?”

“Since…two days ago? Yeah,” Bellamy replies. “Where’s this conversation even going?”

Octavia rubs her temples, like she can’t believe this is her life. “Bellamy,” she begins. “I can’t believe I have to be the one to tell you this, but seriously, you’re in love with your fake ex-wife.”

“ _You’re_ in love with your fake ex-wife,” Bellamy shoots back instinctively.

Octavia rolls her eyes. “What _ever_ , Bellamy.” She pauses, cocking her head and looking at him thoughtfully. “Just let me know – was it platonic the whole time?”

“Yes? I think? I mean, we kissed at the wedding, and we’re affectionate, but not–” He taps his chin. “I know how fake relationships go in movies, O, but really. She’s my best friend.”

“You’re an idiot who’s in love with your fake ex-wife,” Octavia says again, and quickly changes the topic. “Do you want to talk about Lincoln’s new art show?”

“Yes, please,” Bellamy grumbles, grateful for the out, but her words don’t leave him for the rest of the day.

* * *

The marriage had been Clarke’s idea.

Over the years, he had rationalized it with the fact that it had been an option that made sense at the time. They had known each since she’d been assigned as Octavia’s sophomore roommate, and he’d offered her Miller’s old room after she graduated and got a job at the design firm near his place. Their similar stubborn competitiveness worked well as a roommate dynamic and she had rapidly became his best friend.

And then a combination of exhaustion, bad weather, and poor decision-making all around had led to him contracting pneumonitis.

“ _Chemical pneumonitis_ , Jesus,” she had yelled on the phone when he’d called her from the hospital. “Bellamy, this is serious. People die of this in Victorian novels.”

“I think you’re thinking of tuberculosis,” he had said, but it had been punctuated with so much coughing that it sounded more pathetic than anything. “I’ll be fine,” he’d added, mostly to placate her. “It’s not even the contagious kind.”

But he’d long since moved past his pride when it comes to Clarke and their rather large wealth gap, and he’d admitted later that he wasn’t sure how much he would have to pay out-of-pocket, and if he could make it work.

“It’s fine,” he’d admitted, more seriously this time. “Pramheda High insurance isn’t that great, but I can pick up more shifts at the bar.”

“Or,” she had said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “We could get married.”

He had blinked at her. “What?”

“You, me, get married,” she’d enunciated, as if speaking to a child. “Seriously, my insurance is awesome.”

“…What?”

It had taken more convincing, but she had made a good case. They were longtime friends who already lived together, and the design firm’s insurance had excellent coverage that Clarke barely paid anything for. Nothing else needed to change, except for taxes and the way they’d fill out forms.

“What about dating?” he had asked. “I don’t know if you’ve realized, but _by the way, I’m married, but not that married_ is kind of a red flag.”

“I’d just come clean about it, honestly,” Clarke had replied, shrugging. “Again, your insurance sucks, and anyone who doesn’t empathize with the struggles of shitty insurance is probably not worth dating anyway. Plus, you have to admit it’s a pretty good icebreaker.”

He honestly disagreed, but there were more important concerns to be addressed. “What about your _mom_?” he’d asked. “I am pretty sure she’d order a hit on me if she found out we got married for _insurance benefits_.”

She had smiled at that. “Nah, my mom loves you and thinks you’re great. Besides,” she’d added, sobering. “She’s a doctor. She’s seen people get screwed over by insurance firsthand. She’d probably agree with the overall message, if not the execution.”

“Clarke, this could be years of your life,” he’d protested, his final defense.

“I’d feel better if I knew your life expectancy was lengthening,” she’d replied. “I don’t mind, really. You’re my best friend, and my roommate, and to be honest, I don’t see myself dating much in the near future? The job, and all.”

So they had agreed to call it off after two years or if Bellamy got better benefits, whichever came first, and got married. The whole thing happened with minimal fuss and with all their friends and family in attendance. Clarke had looked pretty in the simple white gown, Maya caught the bouquet, Abby Griffin had _hugged_ him at the small reception, and just like that, Bellamy was a married man.

* * *

“I don’t suppose _Honey, I'm home_  is the correct greeting for the two of us now?”

Bellamy looks up at the sound of the door and smiles at her. “I don’t know, you’re my first ex-wife. In movies, it’s always like, _that witch_ , or some other gendered insult.”

“Or their first name, but infused with anger and resentment,” Clarke adds, toeing off her boots. “ _Bellamy_ ,” she hisses, but her voice cracks on the last syllable, which makes him snort. “Is there still dinner?”

“Yeah, chicken parm on the stove and rice in the rice cooker,” he says. “I wasn’t going to stop cooking for two just ‘cause we’re divorced and I now have a better job at a fancier school.”

“Good, neither was I.” Clarke makes her way to the kitchen and Bellamy continues watching _Rome_ , shifting only slightly when she sits down on the other end and plops her feet in his lap. “How was your day?” she asks, nudging his leg with her sock-covered foot.

“Tiring,” he admits, hands unconsciously landing on her legs and squeezing. She sighs, relaxing further into the couch, and he continues the half-hearted massage. “Some kids started a food fight while I was lunch monitor, then I had to slog through a really shitty meeting about the Math curriculum. And the students just remembered they have midterms in like two weeks, so it was an endless stream of consultations after class.”

“Poor baby,” she says, nudging his leg again. “It could be worse. Your students could, like, _not_ care at all, and then you’d be more stressed because you’d be fretting over them because _kids these days don’t prioritize the social sciences_.”

“Huh,” he says, his hands on her shins stilling. “I guess I didn’t think of it like that. You’re right. Except for that terrible impression of me.”

Clarke smiles at him from behind her bowl of chicken parm. “Okay, glad we got that cleared up.” She puts the bowl down and stretches, long and catlike, and he finds himself following the movement of her arms with his eyes before he looks away. “Now, in the spirit of misery Olympics, I will now complain about _my_ shitty day.”

He grins back at her indulgently, feeling a surge of affection. “Go for it.”

She then proceeds to rant about an incredibly picky client whose extremely precise requirements for a job had gotten her in trouble, and listening to her talk, Bellamy almost forgets what Octavia had said.

But then her hands start gesticulating wildly as she excitedly chatters about a mural she was commissioned to design for the local children’s center, her eyes sparkling, and suddenly, he’s filled with the urge to kiss her. His sister’s words rise back up to the surface, and watching Clarke, he wonders why he hadn’t realized it before.

* * *

As a joke, Raven had gotten them a suite at a swanky hotel downtown for their wedding night. “Seriously, don’t waste it,” she’d grumbled at him when handing him the reservation. “I’m rooting for the two of you.”

“You know our marriage is a lie,” he had replied, mock-serious, and she had rolled her eyes.

Fancy hotels make Bellamy’s skin crawl, but Clarke had flopped right on the giant bed in her white dress and stuck her tongue out at him. “Dibs on this side.”

“Suit yourself,” he had said, before his arm darted out to tickle her, making her shriek and flop over to the other side of the bed. “Gotcha,” he said smugly, taking the space she had vacated. It had still been warm.

Clarke had stared at him balefully before yawning, big and very ungraceful. “Wow, being a married woman is exhausting.”

“Wanna crack open the minibar, find a romcom about marriage, and then tuck in?” he’d asked, brandishing the remote.

“Wow, my new husband knows me so well,” Clarke had said, getting up to change into pajamas. They’d gotten through half a bottle of Chardonnay and two-thirds of _Bride Wars_ before falling asleep on each other, Bellamy blearily waking up as the credits were rolling to pull the blankets over them and turn off the bedside lamp. They’d woken up on opposite sides of the bed, he’d kissed her good morning on the forehead, and they’d gotten dressed to raid the breakfast buffet.

“What the fuck,” Raven had muttered when they saw her next.

Clarke had only shrugged. “It was a great bedroom. Thanks, Raven.”

So, really, she had been right – not much had changed after the wedding.

Sure, they’d gotten minor tax benefits, he’d found the wedding ring a great deterrent for unwanted pick-ups when out on the town, and they were now expected to bring each other as dates to events. He’d accompanied Clarke down to Abby’s for Christmas that year, and they’d gone out to fancy places for each other’s birthdays. But for the most part, their dynamic had stayed the same. Their friends had adjusted to the new development mostly gracefully, although not without their fair share of heckling. They had both dated around a little bit, with nothing really lasting very long.

Life went on.

On their one-year anniversary, he got her a set of husband-wife mugs, and she had laughed. “This is the only reason any woman gets married,” she had joked, giving him a hug. “Tacky mugs.”

“What can I say?” he had said. He’s found that he can’t really resist smiling back when his best friend grins at him. “We’ve got this marriage thing down pat.”

* * *

“I think I’m in love with my fake ex-wife,” he tells Miller on the weekend as they’re stretching for a run.

“Shocking,” Miller says, before looking at him, his expression changing. “Oh, you’re serious. You’re not just telling me this to psych me out so you can hit 7k first.”

Bellamy frowns and bends forward, touching his toes so he doesn’t have to look at Miller. “I’m serious.”

“Shocking,” Miller repeats, more sarcastically this time. Bellamy swivels back up and glares at him. “What?” Miller says defensively, bending his right leg in front of him. “So you’re in love with your roommate, who is your second best friend after myself, who is your main emotional support and life partner, with whom you do groceries and literally everything else with, whom you literally spent almost two years being legally married to? Bellamy, that’s the least surprising thing of all time.”

“Well, when you put it like _that_ ,” he says. “I didn’t notice until Octavia pointed it out to me. Three days ago.”

“Jesus, that’s gotta be a world record,” Miller mutters. “Even without the actual married, you guys are the most married people I know.”

Bellamy huffs, bending over to the side. “We aren’t married anymore, though.”

Miller rolls his eyes. “I mean, you could be again,” he points out. “You are going to tell her, right?”

“Do I have to?”

His friend raises an eyebrow. “The divorce was your idea, right?”

“Yeah, and?”

Miller sighs deeply, as if frustrated that Bellamy isn’t understanding what he means. “I mean, you suggested that the two of you split up,” he says, very slowly. “If I were Clarke, I would take that as a pretty big _not-interested_ sign.”

Bellamy is silent for some time, the realization settling in. “…She would, wouldn’t she? Oh, my god, _Miller_.”

Miller actually chuckles at this. “You have to admit, Blake,” he says dryly. “Realizing you were in love with your fake wife right after your fake divorce is kind of a new relationship low for you. Now, can we please start running?”

* * *

Bellamy had suggested the divorce a month after Arkadia Prep told him he could start in the fall. They’d been in the kitchen cleaning up after dinner when he brought it up.

“I think it’s time to split,” he said, putting the leftover salad in the fridge.

“Are you going anywhere?” she’d asked mildly.

“No,” Bellamy had clarified, smiling at her endearing misinterpretation. “The marriage. I think it’s time to get a divorce.”

“…Are you sure?” Clarke had said, voice slow. Her fingers had stilled in the middle of rinsing off a glass. “I mean, we can if you want, but we don’t have to.”

He’d ambled over taken her wet hand in his. Her eyes had darted to their joined hands, then back to his face. “You know I’m really grateful that you offered,” he had said softly. “And living with you is great, of course. But you know, Arkadia Prep’s benefits are pretty good. And besides,” he’d added, teasing. “I know you haven’t been dating; not being married will make that a lot easier.”

“Oh,” Clarke had answered. She had pursed her lips and withdrawn her hand. “Yeah, I guess so.” A pause, her gaze searching his face. “If you’re sure.”

Bellamy had leaned over and hugged her. “I don’t think I’ve thanked you enough in the last year,” he murmurs, kissing her hair. “I don’t think I’ll thank you enough _ever_. You are literally the best fake wife I could ask for.”

Clarke relaxes, returning the hug. “And I keep telling you, you don’t have to.” She pulls away, and there’s something in her expression he can’t quite place. “Okay. We’ll work out the divorce.”

* * *

He honestly does mean to tell her. But then it’s all too easy to fall into their domestic patterns – breakfast in the morning, grocery shopping on Saturdays, commiserating over bad days with wine and Netflix. Except now, he can’t stop noticing how Clarke’s eyes light up when she talks about her paintings, or the way she way she says his name when she’s teasing, the way her large sweaters drop over her shoulders, revealing single bra straps over an expanse of smooth skin, or the way her hair smells when she falls asleep on his shoulder. Each day, he resolves to tell her soon, and each day, Clarke smiles at him and the words lodge in his throat. It’s like a new, special hell he’s carved out for himself.

And then Echo Garner asks him out.

She’s the tall and pretty French teacher, and while he sort of subconsciously knew that she’d check him out during faculty meetings, he also knew that _she_ knew he was married. To her credit, she had waited three months after the office heard about the divorce, but Bellamy still has to stop himself from blurting out “ _I’m married_ ” and has to let her down gently.

“Sorry, I know the divorce was…recent,” she says, apologetic. “But it was worth a shot.”

“Yeah,” he replies, a little embarrassed. “Sorry about that. It’s a little complicated.”

“Still not over her?” she asks sympathetically.

His lip quirks. “I guess you can say that.”

“I see,” Echo says, nodding. “I’m sorry. You always sounded like you really loved her.”

“I did,” he says. “I do.”

At dinnertime, Bellamy relays how Echo asked him out, as well as how Roan (geography teacher, endless parking spot rival) had made fun of him for it afterwards. He’s not expecting Clarke to quiet at the story, looking pensive. “Everything okay?” he prods, poking her leg with his foot under the table.

Clarke takes a deep breath and shakes her hair out as if steeling herself. “I have something to tell you,” she says.

He blinks.

In that moment, with Clarke’s wide blue eyes looking at him, her lip fixed in a nervous smile, the feeling has never been so clear. The words have never been so easy.

“I want to move out,” Clarke says, at the same time Bellamy says, “I’m in love with you.”

Clarke’s eyes widen, and she blinks once, twice. Bellamy’s stomach bottoms out. “I’m sorry,” he blurts out, shame curling in his gut. “Shit. Forget it.”

But then Clarke’s face bursts into a smile, wide and bright, and despite it all, he relaxes. “No, Bellamy. Say that again.”

“I’m…in love with you?” he repeats, his heart stuttering. “Clarke–”

She gets up and moves to his side of the table, coming to a stop in front of him. He stands, his hands coming up to cup her face, run down her hair, neck, and shoulders. “I’m in love with you, too,” she repeats, simple and easy.

“ _Clarke_ –”

“I was trying to figure out how to tell you,” she continues, smiling up at him, and he can’t bring himself to look away. “But we were married for _two years_! And you never seemed interested, and then you said we should get _divorced_ , and here you are getting _asked out at work_ …”

He laughs, smiling back so hard he feels like his cheeks will hurt with how happy he is. “It was supposed to be this whole epic lead-up,” he says, burying his face in his hands. “I turned her down because I was going to ask _you_ out.”

She kisses him, short and quick, and his brain shorts. “You should have led with that!” she complains teasingly. “Bellamy, I’ve been dropping hints for like, a _year_ , thanks for noticing!”

“ _Really_?” He blinks, his brain still catching up with the feeling of Clarke’s lips on his.

“You said you were sure you wanted a divorce and I seriously almost lost my shit,” she laughs, poking him in the chest. She’s still smiling so widely; Bellamy’s heart feels like it’ll burst.

He kisses her this time, deep and dirty, and she gasps for hair when she pulls away. From there it’s a fast, unspoken, happy race to his bedroom, hands and mouths all over, clothing scattered in the hallway, and their laughter echoing throughout the apartment.

Later, when they’re lying side by side in his large bed, he turns to her. “You’re not really moving out, are you?”

Clarke cuddles close to him. “I was looking at apartments,” she admits, playing with the ends of her hair. “I didn’t know how I was going to live with someone who wasn’t picking up on my pining. Even if he was my legal husband,” she adds, her lip curling into a smile.

“Your legal husband was an idiot,” he grumbles, turning his head to kiss behind her ear, and starts mouthing kisses down her neck because he can’t help it, she’s _right_ there and beautiful and her skin is _so_ soft. “Two fucking years. God, we should never have gotten divorced.”

She moans, the sound thrilling, and curls her fingers on his shoulder. “I guess we’ll have to work our way back to marriage, huh?”

He flashes her a wolfish smile and climbs over her. “I think we’ll have to make up for lost time first.”

She laughs and pushes his head downward. “Well, best get to it, then.”

(They more than make up for it.)

* * *

At 7:39 pm on June 24, after six months of real dating, Clarke Griffin and Bellamy Blake announce their engagement.

“It’s real this time, right, Bellamy? You’re not dying or anything?” Murphy asks. “Clarke’s insurance can’t be so good that you’d fake-marry her for it twice.”

Clarke giggles, leaning up to press a kiss to his jaw. “I’m not really sure the first time was really fake,” she says. He smiles and pulls her closer, dropping a kiss on her nose. Their friends boo loudly, and Bellamy gives them the finger.

“God, I knew you two would be nauseous,” Raven says, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder. “Anyway, we were prepared this time. Bring out the cake!”

Monty pulls out a box of cake from behind a shelf and opens it to cheering from everyone else. It’s positively garish – a layer of white fondant and gold flowers, two little bride-and-groom figurines, and icing reading  _Congrats on the real wedding!_ in elegant script _._ “Octavia called me as soon as you told her,” Monty explains over Clarke’s delighted peals of laughter. “I’ve had this cake in my fridge for two days. I didn’t know what the timing of your announcement would be.”

“I guess our timing was always pretty messed up,” Bellamy says.

“But we figured it out,” Clarke adds, grinning up at him.

“Yeah,” he says, grasping her hand and running his hand over the slender silver ring. “We did.”


	2. Hers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Clarke never meant to fall in love with Bellamy when she proposed to him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HAVE NO SELF-CONTROL, I WROTE THIS IN LIKE 4 HOURS AND THEN DIDN'T EDIT IT, JUST TAKE IT AWAY FROM ME I HAVE FINALS!!!!!
> 
> This is lightly inspired by that B99 scene where Jake realizes he wants to propose to Amy, but does not really have anything to do with this fic either.

“So, obviously our friends know our marriage is a sham, and your mom and I guess Kane,” Bellamy is saying from above her. Her head is in his lap on the couch while he’s writing names on a piece of paper while _Planet Earth II_ plays in the background. “What about everyone else? Social media? Twitter? Instagram? Do you want to make our marriage Facebook official?”

“Of course,” Clarke says absently, scrolling through Twitter. “It’s the highest standard of marriage legitimacy. Plus it’s totally going to give my nosy aunts a heart attack. They’re going to ask why they weren’t invited.”

“Everyone’s going to think I knocked you up and this is a shotgun wedding,” he says, trying to sound casual, but she knows him well enough that she can hear the note of concern in his voice. It’s adorable.

She sits up to face him. “They can think whatever they want,” she says, with absolute seriousness. “If I were to choose a friend to fake marry, I would always choose you.”

“That’s a low bar, but I’ll take it,” he says dryly, but he’s smiling, so Clarke takes it as a win. "Have I thanked you today yet?"

"No," she says. "You can go ahead and do it."

"Thank you," he says, pure sincerity. "Again - two years, and I'll get out of your hair. But for now, thank you."

"Don't get ahead of yourself, we aren't married yet," she teases. "I could still have some horrific flaw that makes you decide my insurance isn't worth it."

He snorts. "I doubt it."

They wind up paying Jasper to do a cheesy wedding photoshoot of them in Abby’s generous garden. In one of the shots, Clarke’s hand on his chest is strategically posed to display the ring. _Meet Mr. & Mrs. Griffin-Blake <3, _the caption reads, and Clarke saves the picture as her phone background and posts it everywhere she has followers. It garners a ton of positive reactions, a couple of negative reactions, and one memorable _ARE YOU PREGNANT?? CALL ME ASAP!!!!_ from her Aunt Penelope, which makes her laugh.

 _Not pregnant, auntie,_ she comments back. _Just found my most favorite man._

“Huh,” says Bellamy, looking over her shoulder as she types it. “That’s pretty good.”

* * *

Being married doesn’t change their lifestyle much.

Monty chuckles when she tells him so. “You’re just thinking that because you and Bellamy were already super married,” he says. “Jasper even calls you mom and dad.”

Clarke pouts and takes a sip of her latte. “That’s only because Bellamy is a mother hen and I’m emotionally distant and willing to drive him everywhere.”

Her friend nods sagely. “Maybe so. Or maybe you’re just so used to Bellamy that nothing about living with him surprises you anymore, which is, let’s face it, basically the end result of married life.”

She supposes that it is true. She’s known Bellamy for the better part of six years and lived with him for two of those years. Their relationship has had its ups and downs, but they’ve settled into a good dynamic. They complement each other and are generally on the same page most of the time now – it helps that their schedules are compatible. It’s just easier to go to museums or movies or the grocery when they’re free at the same time. Nothing complicated about it.

“Except the sex,” Monty adds loudly, after a pause that is almost too-well timed.

Clarke nearly chokes on her coffee. “ _Monty_!” she hisses, putting the cup down and pitching her voice lower. “It’s never been like that between us.” Even if they’re perhaps much too close for a pair of best friends. Even if she’s been mistaken for his live-in girlfriend more than once.

He smiles innocently at her. “Of course. Sorry,” he says, not sounding sorry in the slightest.

* * *

Their one-year anniversary falls on a Saturday.

She sleeps in as she’s wont to do on weekends and wakes to bacon frying on the stove, pancakes on the table, and Bellamy making coffee. “Good morning, Clarke,” Bellamy says, turning around to look at her. “Happy anniversary.”

“Oh!” She blinks, sitting down at the dining table. “I’m really sorry, I didn’t get you anything. I can’t believe it’s been a year.”

“That’s okay,” he says, carrying a mug of coffee in one hand and picking up a box on the kitchen counter with the other. He slides both of them towards her. “Just makes my gift look better in comparison. Open it.”

“Jerk,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I’ll buy you a drink later.” She opens the box to find two plain white mugs. “Oh, minimalism.”

Bellamy grins proudly, which she knows means there’s something to them. “Nah. Check this out.” He brings the coffee pot over and fills both with the hot liquid. Almost instantly, the words _HUBBY_ and _WIFEY_ appear in script on the white ceramic. “They change up when you put hot liquid in them. Cool, huh?”

And suddenly, looking at Bellamy, making breakfast clad in comfortable plaid pajamas, his face lit by the morning sun, his bedhead falling into his eyes, and his excited smile waiting for her reaction over their matching _marriage mugs_ , something slides into place, and a familiar feeling curls in her stomach, warm and syrupy.

_Oh._

Clarke stares at him. His smile falters a little.

She shakes her head a little to snap out of it and finds it in her to laugh. “I love them,” she says finally, watching his face light up again. Her heart constricts. “That’s the only reason any woman gets married,” she says, leaning up to hug him. He’s so warm and solid, and all she suddenly wants to do is kiss down his chest, but she’ll settle for the easy way he hugs her back. “Tacky mugs.”

He grins against her hair. “What can I say? We’ve got this marriage thing down pat.”

She curls in closer than would probably be appropriate. “Yeah, we do. Thank you, Bellamy.”

That night, they go out for drinks with their friends as usual, and Raven makes them pay for the first round since it’s their anniversary. Bellamy just laughs and hands her his credit card, plants a kiss on her temple, and shoos her off to the bar. She tries not to think about it.

* * *

Clarke never meant to fall in love with Bellamy when she proposed to him.

It was _stunningly_ obvious in hindsight, but at the time, she had truly meant for their relationship to remain as it was. But the long and short of it was her best friend was sick and couldn’t afford to get out of it, and she was there, too-wealthy and too-privileged and too-willing to do anything for him.

Realizing that she had actually fallen in love with him in the process didn’t even change anything too significantly. It wasn’t an earth-shattering revelation; her world didn’t feel like it had shifted on its axis; it was merely a missing piece of the puzzle falling into place – seeing Bellamy come home after a long day, and receiving that comfortable smile he always reserved for her. It just made sense. Bellamy is kind, and smart, and hardworking, and handsome. He’s a good teacher who loves his students and is loyal to their friends and knows her better than anyone else on the planet. He likes to grouch in public but has one of the biggest hearts she’s ever seen. She’s known all of that for some time, but now she also understands that he’s her _person_.

Which is why it catches her by surprise when Bellamy says, “I think it’s time to get a divorce.”

Clarke tries not to drop the glass she’s rinsing into the sink. “…Are you sure?” she says, willing her voice not to come out strained. “I mean, we can if you want. We don’t have to.”

The realization sinks in – she’s been taking this marriage for granted. She’d forgotten there was a cap they’d agreed upon, that this marriage was finite. She doesn’t get to keep him forever.

Bellamy comes over and takes her hand in his, and Clarke can’t help but focus on the sight. “You know I’m really grateful that you offered, and living with you is great, of course. But you know, Arkadia Prep’s benefits are pretty good.” He pauses, his thumb running circles over her palm. “And besides, I know you haven’t been dating. Not being married will make that a lot easier.”

She wants to laugh and cry at the same time.

Bellamy hugs her and thanks her again, telling her she’s the best fake wife he could ever have asked for, and Clarke can’t do much more than give half-hearted answers and wonder how it all came to this.

* * *

The bartender won’t stop looking at Clarke. She’s not _blind_ , of course; she knows what interest looks like, and Niylah’s pretty; if Clarke hadn’t just ended a fake two-year marriage that had been mostly real on her end anyway, she could be into her. But Niylah’s gaze is also tinged with a bit of concern, which Clarke supposes is fair. This is her fifthish drink, and she’s alone, and her divorce’s been finalized for two days.

She’s not drowning her sorrows. Really.

“It’s just like. It’s not fair, y’know? I’m in love with him. He’s not in love with me.”

Niylah hums. She’s really pretty. “Is this still about your husband?”

“Yeah,” Clarke says into her pina colada. “No. Ex-husband. He was so sure he wanted to split up. We had an agreement. But I love him and it’s my fault for not letting him know!” She realizes Niylah doesn’t know the reason they got married. “That…I love him,” she attempts, lamely. “Enough. To stay married. Let’s go with that.”

Niylah only nods, looking confused. Which is fair. She’d be confused, too. So Clarke pulls out her phone instead.

**Clarke**

_raevn im drnk an gonna die al0ne_

_i uberd here lol at lest i dindt drive!!!!!_

**Raven**

_Clarke are you okay?_

_Where are you?_

**Clarke**

_hold on lemme ask teh bartnderrr shes prittyyy_

_and bellamy doenst lov me ANYWYA_

_[…]_

_Hey, this is Niylah, the bartender. This is Tree Crew Bistro, up on 27 th. Are you Clarke’s friend? Can you come get her?_

**Raven**

_Can’t, sorry Clarke, stuck at the lab tonight. But I’ll call Bellamy and have him come over_

**Clarke**

_NO_

Bellamy comes anyway. Clarke knew he would.

He spots her instantly. “Clarke,” he says, coming over to the bar and sliding into the seat next to her, his large hands coming up to touch her shoulders. He’s wearing a jacket and the jeans he wore yesterday, the ones with the little hole on the left knee, and Clarke starts poking at it if only so she doesn't have to look at his face. “Raven texted me and I freaked and came right here. How drunk are you?” he says, the concern evident in his voice.

“Everything okay?” Niylah asks, coming over to them.

Clarke just beams at her. “This’s my husband Bell’my,” she says drunkenly. “Ex-husband. Since yesterday. Two days? I don’t remember.” She waves a hand, and her lack of coordination means she winds up smacking Bellamy in the chest. “We still live together, even if we just got divorced, so he’s takin’ me home. Is that weird?”

“It’s a little weird, yeah.” Niylah looks at Bellamy like she’s not really sure Clarke was married to him, so Clarke curls into him some more just to prove a point. Bellamy’s really warm, anyway.

He huffs, but his gaze softens. She loves that about him. He’s such a softie. “Thanks for the heads-up,” he tells Niylah, his hands coming up to land gently on Clarke's shoulders again. “I’m taking her home. Is her tab settled?”

Whatever Niylah sees in Bellamy's face must convince her, because she nods. “Take care,” she says.

Bellamy supports her weight as he leads her out of the bar. “C’mon, princess,” he murmurs in her ear, which makes her sigh and lean more into him. “You gotta tell me if you plan on getting smashed. Raven got me really worried.”

All the things she wants to say to him bubble up in her throat. _You're the best,_ _I love you, we shouldn’t have split up, you have to know, I’m pretty sure we’re soulmates, please love me back_. But in a moment of lucidity she’ll later thank herself for, all that comes out is, “Thanks for caring about me, Bellamy.”

“Of course,” he says, low and sweet as he helps her into the car, ever gentlemanly around her. He smooths back some hair from her forehead before shutting the passenger door and climbing into the driver’s seat. “Get some rest, Clarke. We’ll be home soon.”

 _Home. Why did you want to split up?_ she thinks, just as she dozes off to sleep in the passenger seat. _We could’ve been like this forever._

* * *

She wakes up to aspirin and water on her bedside table and her fully-charged phone on top of a note saying Bellamy had an early-morning meeting. She smiles at his thoughtfulness before remembering the events of last night, and groans into her pillow, scrambling for her phone.

“Clarke?” Monty says when he picks up. “It’s ten am. Raven said you were out last night. Are you okay?”

“I know our divorce just got finalized but I’m in love with Bellamy and have known for the last nineish months but I haven’t done anything about it but I don’t know what to do,” she lets out in a rush.

Monty just hums over the phone. “Okay.”

“Are you not surprised in the slightest?”

He sighs. “Don’t get me wrong, Clarke, it’s a lot to unpack, but this is not surprising to me at all. Nor is it surprising to literally anybody who’s seen a fake dating movie.”

“Monty, you’re my second smartest friend, please tell me what I’m supposed to do. Please tell me what they do in fake dating movies.”

Her friend actually _laughs_ at this; she might actually hate him. “True, but I’m also your most emotionally competent friend. Except maybe Wells. We might be equal?”

Clarke huffs in exasperation, despairing. Her head is pounding. “Monty! That’s why I called you!”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line before Monty starts speaking again. “Okay, the way I see it, you have two options. Either you tell your fake ex-husband you’re in love with him, or you slowly start to wean yourself off him.” Another pause. “It should be _obvious_ which one of the two I desperately suggest you do. I have money riding on this.”

She squeezes her eyes shut. If she told him and he loved her back, everything would fall into place. He’s been her best friend and favorite person for eight years, and they know each other inside and out. But Bellamy’s easy _I think it’s time to get a divorce_ , the nonchalant way he told their friends, the casual way he slings his arm around her shoulders, the friendly way he'd picked her up from the bar yesterday…

“He doesn’t love me back,” she whispers into the phone.

Monty doesn’t say anything to that at all.

* * *

She starts looking for apartments.

It starts as procrastination from her commissions before she realizes that it’s a real option. She’s lived with Bellamy for four years and has been so comfortable in his house’s second bedroom that moving out has barely even occurred to her. It doesn’t help that their routine’s barely changed since the divorce – it’s still a movie once a month, grocery shopping on the weekends, carpooling to all their friends’ outings and leaving at the same time, dinner for two, that she sometimes forgets they aren’t married anymore.

It would be so good, if they still were.

But she needs to be less dependent on him, so moving out it is. Preferably somewhere at least five miles away.

Unsurprisingly, however, good real estate in the city center is hard to find, and she’s all but given up on it when Bellamy says at dinner, “Oh, and you remember my coworker Echo? The French teacher?”

Clarke does remember her; she’s met the woman multiple times at faculty functions she goes to in her official capacity as his wife. The two of them are largely the same at such events except they’re touchier and they kiss each other’s cheeks more often; they must be convincing, as Echo’s told them they made a cute couple at least _once_. That would normally make her beam, but now the memory rises up, jagged and sharp and bitter. “Yeah, I remember her. Tall, brown hair, kind of intense?”

Echo is attracted to Bellamy. Clarke’s been able to pick up that much from the way Bellamy talks about her, the way her eyes follow Bellamy when he’s with Clarke, and so she listens to Bellamy tell his story intently, trying to swallow the pang of jealousy. She and Bellamy aren’t married anymore, were never really married to begin with, and if he wants to date Echo Garner, he can. “You should’ve heard Roan, he was insufferable,” Bellamy’s saying. “He must’ve known; he cornered me in the break room and said to watch out for Echo. Sure enough, she asked me to dinner today, to that new Italian place that opened downtown.”

Clarke feels lightheaded. This is it. He’s going to go to dinner with his coworker, and he’s going to fall in love with her, and Clarke had two years to take her shot and missed it.

Ever perceptive, Bellamy quiets and nudges her leg with his foot. “Everything okay?”

She really does love him. But now she knows what she has to do. “I have something to tell you.”

There’s a pause where she and Bellamy look at each other. It feels rather like a tipping point, and she steels herself and takes the plunge.

Clarke says, “I want to move out.”

At the same time, Bellamy says, “I’m in love with you.”

She blinks.

Bellamy must register her words first, because his face crumples. “I’m sorry,” he says, stumbling over the words. “Shit, forget it.”

 _I’m in love with you_.

“No, Bellamy,” she says, smile blooming across her face. “Say that again.”

He looks at her, eyes wide, and she loves him, she loves him, she loves him. “I’m…in love with you?”

She bolts upright and dashes to stand beside him, and he stands to match her, his hands coming up to touch her face, her neck, her arms, and she’s so happy she could burst. “I’m in love with you, too,” she says.

“ _Clarke_ ,” he says, sounding choked up.

“I was trying to figure out how to tell you,” she whispers, smiling at him. She can’t help it; her best friend loves her back. “But we were married for  _two years_! And you never seemed interested, and then you said we should get  _divorced_ , and here you are getting  _asked out at work_ …”

Bellamy covers his face with his hands. “It was supposed to be this whole epic lead-up. I turned her down because I was going to ask you out.”

Before she can stop herself, Clarke tiptoes and plants a kiss on him, short and quick, just because she can. His head follows the motion briefly when she pulls away. “You should’ve led with that!” she teases. “Bellamy, I’ve been dropping hints for like, a year, thanks for noticing!”

She relishes the awed look on his face. Has he always looked at her like that? “ _Really_?”

“You said you wanted a divorce and I seriously almost lost my shit,” she says, feeling lightheaded. It can't have been this easy, but it is.

And then Bellamy kisses her, and she stops thinking very clearly.

“You know, Echo told me that I always sounded like I really loved you,” he murmurs later, when they’re both sweaty and sated. “And I think she was right. It was you, this whole time.”

“Sweet-talker,” she says, rolling over and landing over his chest. Her hair tickles his skin, and he reaches up to play with the curls, almost like he still can’t believe she’s there.

“You love it,” he teases, smirking.

She places a kiss on his collarbone, slow and deliberate, and giggles when he jerks. “I do.”

* * *

Bellamy clinks his wine glass against hers. “Happy sixth-month anniversary, babe.”

Clarke smiles and gestures to both their plates. “You know it’s special because I never cook anything this fancy.”

“You don’t.” His lip quirks. “The steak is great. Please, I relinquish all future cooking duties to you.”

“Thank you,” she replies. “I actually called Wells in a panic because I couldn’t remember the ratio of the stuff that goes in the sauce, so if you'd like that disaster energy for all the rest of our meals, forever…”

He kicks her lightly under the table, looking extremely sincere. “Hey, no. It’s delicious, Clarke. Thank you.”

“And…I got you something this time,” she says, almost shy. He cocks his head at her, and she stands and stops in front of him, reaching into her pocket. She takes a deep breath. “Bellamy, will you–”

Understanding dawns on his face. “Okay, stop right there,” Bellamy says. “I need to run and get something from my room real quick.” He leaves her blinking by the dining table, dumbfounded, and returns with a black box. Her heart leaps into her throat.

“Bellamy Edward Blake,” she says, trying not to choke up. “Are – are you–”

He reaches down to cup her cheek. “Let me do this,” he murmurs. “You did it last time.”

“True marriage, already arguing about whose turn it is to do what,” she says, teary, and he thumbs at the tear that slips out of her eye, kisses her on the cheek, gets down on one knee, and takes her hand.

She might be a little lightheaded.

“Clarke Griffin, and note how I’m not using the middle name you hate, because I love you,” he intones, and she snorts. “You are the love of my life and I was a fool to think our first sham marriage was just actually not just a lie.”

She tugs at their joined hands. “Jesus, Bellamy, really turning up the romance.”

“I try,” he says, smiling up at her. “Will you do me the honor of marrying me for the second time in two years, but for a legitimate reason this time?” He opens the box, revealing a thin silver ring.

There’s really no word for the absolute happiness that fills her in that moment, and so Clarke gets down on her knees as well. “Yes, of course,” she says, taking out the gold band in her pocket and showing it to him. “Only if you’ll do me, the honor, too.”

His eyes widen, zipping from the ring to her face. “Clarke, of course.”

They stare at each other, both kneeling, and burst into laughter. Bellamy nearly tackles her to the floor, peppering her face with kisses, and it’s all she can do to pull him closer before the reality of the situation kicks in. “Bell–” She gasps, interrupted by his mouth swirling something wonderful. “Bell, you really want the engagement sex to happen on the living room floor?”

Bellamy laughs, full and happy, and the sound thrills her. “I guess not.” He kisses her again and helps her to her feet. “I gotta listen to my wife, after all.”

* * *

 **Clarke Griffin** is now engaged to **Bellamy Blake**

 **Penelope Griffin-Montclair** : _Clarke Arturia Griffin, isn’t this the man you divorced????? Don’t tell me you’re marrying him again???? Does your mother know?????? Will you at least invite me and your Uncle Jeffrey this time????_

 **> > Clarke Griffin**: _It’s him! We had a silly misunderstanding, and I’m marrying him again. Yes, my mother knows, and of course you’re invited!_

 **> > Penelope Griffin-Montclair**: _I hope to meet this young man at the wedding…when you’re young you do make a lot of mistakes…_

 **> > Clarke Griffin**: _Yes, auntie, you will for sure! I hope you’ll love him as much as I do._ _😊_

 **> > Penelope Griffin-Montclair**: _You’re not pregnant this time are you??_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minty: 101% Done With Bellarke is another favorite fic trope of mine.
> 
> Clarke’s middle name is always Arturia and Bellamy’s middle name is Edward whenever I can make it so, because it’s just so ridiculous and if you’re going to name your characters after sci-fi authors, you might as well go all the way.
> 
> Plz leave feedback! Writing modern AU blorke is actually really fun, wow.

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of those fics which I conceived at lunchtime on a weekend and posted 12 hours later after a caffeine-induced writing spree, so please, feedback is good.


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